


Stormy Weather & Moody Blues

by TheForestUnderQuarantine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Banter & teasing, F/M, Half-galra Barbarian Thunderstorm Darkness, M/M, Monsters & Mana (Voltron), Near Death Experiences, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Shifter Thief Pike, Shiro & Keith are adoptive brothers, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, quest narrative, thunderpike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForestUnderQuarantine/pseuds/TheForestUnderQuarantine
Summary: "Sometimes the road less travelled is less travelled for a reason. The well tread path is clearer, its edges worn down & more welcoming.The other side looked like death.So Pike simply did not understand why the stubborn lump he was travelling with was glaring, arms crossed, hips cocked, with a look of utmost intensity between the paths as if it was the hardest decision he had ever had to make.“I think we should go left.”What. The. Quiznak!? "The Paladin Citadel has been broken into, & magicians Sam & Matthew Holt kidnapped along with their bodyguard, Gyro the Hero. The Citadel won't do a thing though, what with bureaucracy & heavy losses. Not even if Sam Holt's come across a formula to save the quintessence-poisoned world. Recently rejected from being paladins, but still with aspirations to be heroes, the barbarian Thunderstorm Darkness & his the thief Pike are the world's only hope. Thunder will not let his brother die. Pike will not let the man who saved him in the desert die in the process. Even if it means disappearing himself.
Relationships: Acxa/Veronica (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Pike/Thunderstorm
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	Stormy Weather & Moody Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Sorry if anyone has been holding out for an update on the Curtashi fic, been really struggling to know where to take it. In the mean time, I would like to contribute a one-shot for one of my favourite AUs, Thunderpike, run on cheese, soft glances & a lot of banter. Trigger warnings for a torture scene later in the piece. Shiro loses an arm. It's not graphic, & gone over quickly, but I feel it's something that needs a head's up. Also, this is not beta-read. I don't have a beta. I would really love any feedback on how to improve this piece. Very nervous as this is my first completed one-shot, & I worry that the pacing might be a bit off. There is currently a zine application call-out to a fabulous zine opportunity called Rolling20 if anybody would also like to apply & spread the word.

Sometimes the road less travelled is less travelled for a reason. The well tread path is clearer, its edges worn down & more welcoming. Pike could see fairy lights strewn pink and starlight white through the pines, lighting the path in pleasant dappled colours. Garden gnomes marked ever five hundred metres with smiling faces and the name of the road. Welcoming smells of stew and freshly baked bread and the sounds of drunk and cheerful revellers. 

Perfect marks for pickpocketing.

The other-side of the forked crossroad path was overgrown with brambles. Yellow eyes glared out at him from behind dead trees, the trees themselves looking like bleached ghosts with distorted limbs, which howled in the wind. A snake slithered across the path and into the underbrush. A shadowy figure blinked in and out, it ghoulish jaundiced face turning to look at Pike, only it had no eyes, in order to scream at him before it completely blinked out.

So Pike simply did not understand why the stubborn lump he was travelling with was glaring, arms crossed, hips cocked, with a look of utmost intensity between the paths as if it was the hardest decision he had ever had to make. Those thick black eyebrows were so pinched in concentration, Pike was worried his dear barbarian comrade was going to give himself a headache. He was about to say something passed his cat-gotten tongue when Thunderstorm’s expression cleared and he straightened up, turning to him with big owlish eyes and a proud smile.

“I think we should go left.”

“What!? You think we should—no, no no. Really? You spent that long coming up such a stupid decision? What the cheese. You never cease to surprise me,” Pike’s eyes narrowed. “In the not nice way.”

Thunderstorm Darkness pouted, looking genuinely hurt for the briefest of the seconds before matching the shifter thief’s glare. “It’s not stupid.”

“Really? Because you took five minutes to decide to go down the dangerous scary path of ultimate doom.”

“There’s freshly made marks in the mudbanks on the side. As if someone’s recently slipped. And there’s Galra fur caught on the boxthorn over there. A group has been through lately, and my bet is they’ve tried to cover their tracks. My guess is they’ve used a glamour, but they missed the things that weren’t footsteps. Would you be able to cast a reveal spell? You stocked up at the market right?”

Pike blinked slowly. Looked at the path again. Saw a cotton-bud of purple fur dotted with blood that he had initially mistaken for a blackberry. “Huh. And here I thought you were just trying to be antisocial. Good job Storm Boy,” the rookie thief said, patting him on the arm at the juncture where bicep overflowed from shirt.

Thunderstorm blushed and grumbled. “I mean. Travellers are loud. And the slow everything down. So you’re not wrong.”

“So you WERE looking for any sign to go the un-tread path and just got lucky.”

“Well, no. But I really didn’t want to have to share any stories with strangers. Plus, this would be so much quicker if you could just teleport!”

Pike winced at the memory of the in-between, at the space between being present and then being gone completely from a space. Last time he’d tried, he’d wound up disappearing for over an hour, panting and sick for weeks with all the energy it took for him to come back. He rolled his eyes, putting the green bauble in his mouth. He chewed, the candied magic smacking around in his mouth. “Oh please,” he said, voice muffled in wet chews, “As if you wouldn’t just be there, arms crossed, glowering and looking at them all moody and mysterious. If I can barely get your story out of you what hope do strangers have?”

“You know enough of my story,” Thunderstorm mumbled. “But bards have silver-tongues. And you know I’m not good at keeping secrets under pressure.”

“With my platinum tongue? Don’t I know it. You’re either a clam or loose-lipped. Too honest and straightforward, even for a barbarian class,” Pike said as he blew out a bubble, which popped lewdly releasing the form of a dragon which breathed out light down the path, removing the glamour the Galra had left behind. It revealed a less threatening path—still too many burnt out trees, straight and smoking as cigarettes in Pike’s opinion—full of footsteps of a squadron of Galra, hoof-marks and wheel slides of a cart. Weapon transportation, no doubt. And with it, the distinctively smaller footsteps of a trio of humans. One of them had clearly slid and fallen off the track, leaving an imprint in the mud. The most obvious of markers untouched by the glamour.

Thunderstorm smiled. 

Pike whistled. “Well what do you know. Your brother must have the brain cell in your family.”

Thunderstorm scowled, but even he knew it was just for show and it quickly gave way to a relieved chuckle. “Sometimes. But then he burns his beef and sets off the water magic system in the Citadel.”

Pike smirked, recalling a recent incident involving a lake, a swept away axe and one thoroughly drenched and miserable Thunderstorm he’d personally had to fish out of the water. “Bet you were glad you weren’t in the Citadel then, cat-boy.”

Thunderstorm only scowled deeper, readjusting his giant ram skull helmet. “Says the actual cat-wolf boy.”

***  
They followed the tracks until it led them to the outskirts of a town, Tahn. That was when the rain hit. A distressed Thunder had ran, yelling up at the heaven’s for just a moment’s mercy. Please, please don’t wash the tracks away. Pike had to grab him by the (incredibly fluffy) collar and pull him back. He didn’t want Thunder to catch his death. Who else could he make fun of? 

He eventually, with much pouting, smooth words, and lethal puppy dog eyes convinced Thunder to break for the night. 

He hadn’t slept for forty hours. Hadn’t slept on a bed for a solid three weeks in the pursuit of his kidnapped adoptive brother. His back must have been killing him, for he’d always given Pike the softer ground and sleeping-swag most nights. Some form of showing he was the tougher man, clearly. Pike hadn’t taken that laying down, and as soon as Thunder’s eyes drifted shut—it would take hours, he would always try to keep a lookout—he would be out of the bag as quietly as possible to then wrap it around him. Would grab his own jumper to put beneath the sleeping man’s mullet. Pike would win the thoughtfulness competition, damnit, and he would not be the soft one. But he could pretend to be soft. 

Plus, Pike’s insisted, the Galra would also have taken cover and not ventured further in the rain.

The dirt tracks gave way to cobblestones the closer they got to the city. On the outskirts, teens sneaking around laughed in the rain under umbrellas and ran to take shelters in doorways and make-out. A deli glowed. Open. A roast chicken spun delectably in the window and Pike found himself salivating at the bird. Trading stores outlined the border of the city, for traveller ease-of-access. An artisan ran to take in the woven clothes they’d left out on display. A metalworkers jewellery stood on display next to their gilded weaponry. Pike could see Thunder’s eyes lingering on a blade with a leather hilt that looked particularly well crafted. His own eyes were drawn towards a pair of rings with gleaming amethyst that reminded him of Thunderstorm’s eyes. They were very pretty stones. But he pulled himself on. 

Eventually, they came upon an inn. The inn sign had a carved carciture of a buxom ferret-shifter winking, accompanied by the name ‘The Swift Ferret.’ 

Thunderstorm froze.

Pike started rambling. “This is the place. Doesn’t discriminate against any class or race, buddy, I promise. It’s shifter-friendly. Galra too. We’re not going to get any rude looks or words, I promise.”

“Is this a place of ill-repute? I—” he blushed. “I don’t want to enter.”

Pike merely laughed. “Nah. It’s just a sleeping stop. It’s my sister Vero’s, actually. She’s just confident and knows what signs sell. If they’re disappointed by what the find, well, that’s on their pervert minds.” He sighed wistfully. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her. She left home to make a name for herself when I was only small, but she became an honest business owner instead. Was a real disappointment. She had too much of a spark to be so boring. She was my hero, really.”

Thunderstorm looked to him with empathy and understanding.

“Well, her and your brother. But then he’s everyone’s hero. Gyro the hero. Still,” he smiled softly, “I’m so happy to see her again. I missed her so much.”

Pike was absolutely devastated to learn at reception that his sister had recently left for a month’s long honeymoon from a spontaneous elopement “with a beautiful half-tiefling, half-Galra babe. Such lucky woman”—sighed by the blonde barmaid. 

“Yeah she’s lucky but could you leave a message—never mind. Forget it. Wasn’t meant to be. Let’s just check in.” He searched around his multiple money pouches before settling on one, pulling out a piece of gold. “This enough for the night?”

The barmaid bit Pike’s coin and giggled. “Had to be sure. Great quality. Nice steal.”

Pike’s throat grew a little dry as he swallowed and nodded, remembering how he’d actually worked through a pretty arduous and dangerous quest to be rewarded a piece by the mystical archer, Lura. “Why … well of course, I steal only from the best, and of the highest quality. I am a guy with great standards, after all,” he said with a cocky smile, a wink and with the final bit of punctuation: finger guns.

Thunder scoffed and looked away, drawing the barmaid’s attention.

“Oh,” her jaw dropped slightly in understanding. “Oh yeah, this gold should cover the two of you. You’re together right? I have just the room. It’s got an absolutely perfect view of the gardens outside, and I’ve been told it smells of lavender. It comes with complementary shampoo and beauty products. And a bath. And you’re absolutely in luck as it’s the last room we have available!”

Pike perked up, absolutely thrilled at the prospect of lounging around in a bathtub full of scented water and finally getting the opportunity to pamper himself with some good quality tender love and care and time.

He babbled excitedly about his skincare routine he was envisioning for himself to the barmaid, Romelle, as she led them to their room.

He was absolutely thrilled, until he realized: there was only one bed.

Thunderstorm froze, feeling his heart jackhammering against his ribcage with all its might. Pike, meanwhile, took the flight reaction, laughing hysterically while pointing at the bed, before shaking his head. “No, no. No. There has got to be a mistake here. There’s no way in hell she’d think—that we—” Pike gestured futilely between them, jaw slack. He met Thunderstorm’s similarly overwhelmed gaze, the barbarian looking like a deer in the lights of a cart, his own mouth gulping like a fish. Pike’s ears flattened against his head, itching against his spiked-up hair. “You know what? Screw this. I’m tired. I’m finally warm and safe for the night. And I need a bath.”

“Pike. We can’t just avoid—”

“Can and will, see you in an hour!” Pike dashed into the bathroom with a whoop, as if pretending like nothing was wrong—that they weren’t going to have to share a bed—would mean by the time he came out, everything would have sorted itself out.

Of course, by the time Pike came out in the bathrobe provided—nose pink, hair saturated flat, skin shimmering with traces of golden flecks from his facemask, and eyes sleepy—Thunderstorm was practically where he had left him. Only, now he was sitting on the end of the bed, head in his hands, as if he’d been continuously undergoing an existential crisis while Pike had been shaving and playing with a rubber duckie among the bubble bath. Pike grimaced sheepishly, as Thunderstorm slowly looked up, eyes wide and mouth slack. 

“The—er, the bathroom is free. If you’d like it. 

“I’ve never seen your hair down like that.”

Pike’s ears twitched, fluffed up in anger. “Yeah so this is what it looks like when I don’t take time to slick it up and have cleaned out the product. You caught me.”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean. It suits you.”

Pike scoffed. 

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well,” Pike scratched his suddenly too warm neck. “Your opinion is wrong, Thunder-thighs. Ohhh look, there are bees in the garden. And roses.”

“Pike.”

“Look, I’m not really happy with this sleeping situation either. But it’s not the horror you’re making it out to be,” Pike said this, yet his heart had barely relaxed even in the tub. “You stay on your side, I stay on mine. It’ll be like we’re sleeping beside each other like we’ve been doing for weeks anyway. Just because we’re under the same blanket and on a cosy bed, means nothing.”

“If you’re sure,” Thunderstorm said, clearly unsure himself. 

“Of course, I’m not scared of a little old bed,” Pike laughed airily. 

They got a fire going. Got Romelle to bring them some spiced mead. Challenged each other to a drinking game—well, Pike challenged Thunderstorm so of course he couldn’t disagree—until both lightweights were talking loudly, faces apple-red and eyes watering up with every joke. The room was warm and comfortable, the fire sparking with their conversation. Pike loudly slapped Thunderstorm’s back as he choked on a sip he’d snorted up with laughter. Eventually, once he’d gotten Thunderstorm’s breathing in check he went to put out the fire. Thunderstorm watched his back, eyes bleary with sleep but wearing a contented smile. The silence was comfortable, the awkward air of earlier long since gone.

Thunderstorm cleared his throat. “Um. Don’t tell anyone. But I was a little shit. First time Gyro tried to help fix my leg, I bit him. Drew blood too. But what was I supposed to do? I’d been raised by Galra barbarians. The expectation was that even your friends could kill you or leave you for dead if they slowed you down. And they had,” Thunderstorm rubbed along his thigh down to his calf, remembering the crush of the building as it had fallen down on him in a raid. It still ached with pain, skin raised and poorly maintained. The one-time Pike had seen it, he’d tutted and tried to rub ointment into it to relax the muscle and relieve irritation, but they’d both quickly frozen and pulled away from the idea. 

“I was thirteen years old and I’d just been left to die in this building by what I thought of as family. Not … not that they were family as they always hammered in. Little useless orphan they’d call me until I was short and snappish enough to pull my weight. I thought I’d pass out from the pain, or that the fire that had started up would eventually eat me alive. But then through the smoke there was this paladin,” Thunderstorm choked up, as if by smoke. “For a brief second, I thought it was my dad, coming to take me to heaven. But then the pillar crushing my leg was lifted and I was hauled up and out and hurt like reality. That wasn’t my dad’s voice. But it had the same tone—still couldn’t trust him. Especially as it was the paladins who had lit the fire and attacked our party in the first place. But Gyro must have felt something fatherly, looking at this soot-covered snot-nosed kid. He didn’t see an enemy, but a kid who needed help. And what did I do? As soon as he’d set my leg, I’d bit him and tried to run. Didn’t get very far on a near-useless leg. But even having injured him, he didn’t kill me.”

Thunderstorm looked towards the fire Pike was tending, watching the wood crackle and blister with sparks and then still. The embers glowed a steady red, gradually dimming. “It was the first bit of kindness I’d been shown since my father had died. And Gyro and Adam in a way became my fathers. Or at the very least, really cool older brothers. They tried to get me into school,” he pulled up his knees to his chest. “But nowhere would take a barbarian kid. Wrote me off as violent.”

Pike felt his heart clench. It had been similar for him, the usual bullshit excuses to keep shifters out of various academies. 

“But not Gyro and Adam. They thought I was good enough to teach,” Thunderstorm smiled. “Taught me all the basics. Reading, writing, how to speak my thoughts, arithmetic. Let me sword-fight with the coolest paladin swords. At that point I wasn’t just some kid who needed family. I was family. You have a big family, Pike. You’d know that if you could, you wouldn’t let anything happen to them, right?” 

Pike nodded, throat dry as he moved from the fire to sit beside his travelling companion—his friend. “I understand. Anything happened to my family, I’d be hunting them down like you’re hunting Sendak.” 

Thunderstorm turned to face him, those galaxy eyes reflecting the fire as his skin glowed in the light. “Gyro isn’t even your family and you’re helping me find him. I’d pray for whoever hurt your actual family. Thank you, Pike. I know we don’t always get on, but I really, truly mean it. You never had to do this.”

Pike choked out a strained laugh before rolling up the bed to fluff up the pillows. “I wouldn’t let you do this alone. You’re my friend. Also wouldn’t give up a chance to mock you mercilessly for an extended period of time. You look like you could use some rest though. Lay down for the night?” 

Thunderstorm blinked, eyes wide and owlish at the word ‘friend’ before his face lit up with the smallest, happiest smile. He nodded and shuffled up the bed, plonking down on his back.

“Take your helmet of first, idiot!” Pike tutted, getting Thunderstorm to sit up as he removed the skull and Thunder’s shoulder pads. He ran his hand through the inky locks, trying to detangle some of the helmet-hair before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back as if burned. “I’m surprised you got out of most of your armour at least. I’d call that progress, Stormy.”

Thunderstorm glowered.

“Careful. Didn’t mean to bring Stormy Weather.”

“Quiet Moody Blues.”

“Moody Blues? I’ll take that as a compliment for my eyes, thank you,” he batted his eyelashes before flopping back onto his own pillow. 

Thunderstorm stayed sitting up, staring ahead with his eyebrows sullenly drawn. His voice broke the silence. “We’re friends?”

Pike’s heart clenched at the hopeful lilt of his voice, aware of his loneliness when it came to same-age peers. “Of course, Storm-Boy.”

Thunderstorm lowered himself. But rather than go back-to-back like Pike had assumed they would, he faced towards him, smile quirking with that soft gaze that made Pike’s throat clench. Pike gulped.

Thunderstorm grinned wider. “Didn’t think we’d ever get this far. First thing you ever did when you’d finally healed up was accuse me of theft.”

“Hey,” Pike pouted. “You stole something from me and I want to get it back. Can’t exactly have you out-thieving me. Think of my reputation, Thunder!”

Thunderstorm’s smile clouded over into a frown. “How many times do I have to explain I don’t even know what it is you think I stole from you? The guys who beat you up must have taken it. I’m innocent.”

Pike narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like something a guilty person would say.”

Thunder huffed and turned his back to him. Pike grumpily rolled onto his other side too, not to be out-done in the sense of being wronged. He kept glancing over his shoulder though, gauging Thunderstorm for a reaction, although the half-Galra seemed to be out like a log. 

Had he been braver, Pike would have yanked his companion’s hand and put it to his chest, let him feel what he’d stolen. But then, the idiot probably would have gotten that wide-eyed look before saying “…you think I stole a necklace?” so Pike simply wasn’t going to bother being brave.

Surprisingly, it was Thunderstorm who broke the silence. “It was easier when you couldn’t speak, those first few days I met you. I mean, when you were delirious you were refusing the water I was trying to give you like a complete dumbass, but then I think you saw I wasn’t one of the men who’d hurt you and changed your tune.”

Pike had seen the young barbarian—the desert nomad, the boy who’d been rejected by the citadel on the same day as he had and had thus rejected the town save visits from Gyro and Adam—and he was glowing like an avenging angel in the moonlight. He’d been dumped and left to die, shoulder broken, face swollen, in the middle of a desert by men who’d accused him of theft. He hadn’t—was too good to be seen stealing—but they hadn’t cared. He thought the sand in his face would be the last thing he’d ever see, before he was non-to-gently rolled over. Raven hair flew behind him, along with his cape, bandana firmly over his scowling mouth to keep the sand out. He wasn’t going to fight an angel. Had let him nurse him back to health “because let me help you, damn you, Gyro taught me it was important to be a good Samaritan, pay it forward” in his desert shack until he’d gotten his voice back.

His opening pick-up line—thematic, appropriate for him—had been ill-received though. Flown completely over that angel’s head into an argument complete with confused pouts and scowls, and Pike had seen that Thunderstorm was no angel, but a teen as awkward as he was with the social skills of a cacti. When Thunderstorm had become a human, Pike was completely gone. Ride or die, no turning back head-over-heels in love. But Thunder was too easy not to tease.

Pike was the first one to cave, rolling over to face him. “Are you scared about facing Sendak?”

Thunderstorm hesitated, looking back at him over his shoulder. “I’m scared of failing to save my brother. Failing to save Sam and Matt. You heard what Adam said, about what Sam’s carrying—”

Adam had come to them, having escaped hospital, limping and with a broken arm and a bandaged eye, begging them to go after Sendak when he couldn’t. The citadel were refusing to send men to look after the few taken in the raids, assuming them as good as lost as they rebuilt and tended to their wounds. They refused to hear Adam’s story that the raid was targeted. Refused to hear about Sam’s experimental liquid, capable of healing quintessence poisoning and saving the poisoned parts of their world. Had certainly refused to send manpower to follow a rumour. So a desperate Adam had stolen a cart and driven across the desert, not even recovered himself, to come beg at Thunderstorm’s door. Pike was lucky he’d been using every excuse not to leave, or else he wouldn’t have been there to support Thunderstorm in his near-suicidal quest.

“Save Takashi,” Adam had said before the citadel goons that had followed him from the hospital broke in to take him away. “Save the world.”

“We’ll save him, Thunder. I promise,” Pike said firmly, reaching out to put a hand to back and patting it firmly in comfort. He was not expecting Thunderstorm to roll around and take that hand, entwining their fingers and pulling him close as he buried his face in Pike’s chest. All Pike could do was stroke a hand through his hair as he pretended not to hear him sob under the weight of the mission put on his shoulders. For the family he was terrified of losing. 

“I’m scared too,” he soothed. “Ever since getting rejected to be a paladin, I feel like I’m just—disappearing. Every time I teleport, there’s this moment I feel like I’m not going to come back. This in-between. I don’t want to die, but if it’s worth dying for … well, if I get to be a hero, I’m all for it. Hero barbarian. Hero thief. Neck and neck, side by side. First of our kinds to hopefully become paladins. Besides, I gotta live. Gotta be a better hero than you, mullethead.” 

Thunderstorm snorted. Smiled through his puffy eyes. “That a challenge? Guess you better not disappear for good then.”

Pike smiled back. “Guess not.”

***  
It was surprisingly easy to discover the Galra’s lair. Sendak had been ruthless in his violence, retaken a former Galra keep just a morning’s hike away from the town. 

Pike narrowly saved Thunderstorm’s hands from being skewered through a blade triggered by a trap in the door as they stormed through the building. 

They were lucky: Sendak had sent most of his men out for supplies and was alone surrounded by giant toxin-spitting rats as he tortured a strapped-down Gyro, who was refusing to give information even as Sendak chopped off his arm. Matt and Sam lay unconscious on the floor. His brother’s screams drove Thunderstorm into reckless action, alerting the large Galra to their presence. Pike managed to take two of the guard-beasts out with a slingshot, and Thunderstorm quickly skewered two with his deft swordsmanship but a third threw itself, jaws slathering and bubbling with acid as their incisors threatened to take out Thunderstorm’s throat. Thunderstorm punched the creature away, hissing as its acid dripped into his fist. 

It was lucky for Thunder that shifters were the creature’s natural predators, lucky that Pike’s saliva contained antibodies capable of neutralising the burn. Pike grabbed his hand, calling Thunder a reckless idiot as he brought his fist to his lips, brushing a kiss to the damaged knuckles while maintaining eye-contact. The pain stopped. 

“I see the citadel couldn’t even send its own to pick up these dogs,” Sendak sneered, the bulky man’s mechanical arm powering up to finish them off. “And who might you useless rejects be? One of you must be the little brother.” Thunderstorm hissed and went to attack, but Pike held him back as Sendak laughed. “No, Gyro never broke. My intel inside said there might be a problem with you though. Don’t know who this mutt is though. Someone else for history to forget.”

Pike chuckled. “Might be so. But that’s the thing about thief’s: we’re supposed to disappear.”

And with that, he teleported to Sendak, grabbing him around the throat before teleporting away. 

Thunderstorm waited for his return. Surely he’d just dumped the larger man over a cliff? Right? The longer he waited for Pike’s return, the more he wanted to scream. Not able to do anything, he ran to his brother to make a tourniquet around his arm to staunch the blood-flow. A delirious Gyro smiled up at him through the pain, before passing out. Alone among the unconscious, Thunderstorm looked to the space he’d last seen Pike, trying to hold it all in.

The air popped with a gasp as Pike appeared. Thunderstorm beamed and rushed to greet him, only to see him struggle to stand, and then fall to the ground with a pained whimper.

“Pike!” he rushed to his side, turning him over to check for injuries. Sendak had taken a lot out of him; his stomach had been stabbed through by Sendak’s arm, only it was not the wound itself but the necrotic rotting of quintessence poisoning that alarmed him. It coursed through Pike’s system, locking onto his cells. As a shifter, they were switching off his body’s ability to control his teleportation. He was disappearing, piece-by-piece, starting with the gash in his stomach, pumping down to his feet and legs and then moving up through his torso. Pike’s eyes were pinched, tears of excruciating pain growing at the corner as he looked down at the damage, the holes of disappearing flesh. “Ah.”

He couldn’t bare to look at it. Instead looked up at the man holding him in his arms. It was there that he could find peace. He smiled despite the pain, hoping to see it mirrored in that pretty face. “This reminds me of the desert, that first night. Me weak and dying, and you leaning over me like the world’s moodiest angel forcing me to drink, and none-to-gently. I needed the kick though. And by god, you glowed. Only, this time you’re not just scowling. You’re crying. I feel like I’ve hurt you, that I’ve made things worse for you and I am so sorry. Please don’t cry. I hate when you cry. After all this time, I still can’t make your stormy butt laugh.”

Thunderstorm tried, he really did. His lips wobbled, and he almost made them smile before they cracked and he choked up. “I don’t … I don’t think I can laugh right now.”

Pike’s hand reached out, using what energy he could to catch a stray tear. He smiled serenely, even as his body faded away in patches. “Well damn. I'm too tired to be on my A-games. All my jokes would sink. Like you trying to swim. Never expected you to have something you weren't good at. & they say I'm a cat in water. Jesus. Better than a wet mullet. You looked like a drowned rat. Heh. It was so cute.”

Thunderstorm smiled sadly despite his desire to cry, to weak and pained to fight off . “Shut up. You were the one who acted ridiculous for getting wet. Your tail fluffed out so scandalised.”

“I was in white! It was a scandal! It was all see-through” he looked down at his chest, the disappearing splotches growing up. Thunderstorm could see the ground through him as he tried to hold onto him. “Guess it’s nothing compared to this. Thunder. Thunder I want you to move forward. Want you to be a hero, even though I can’t be your righthand man. It might hurt at first—no, listen, don’t shake your head—it might hurt at first, but then it’ll fade. Be a dull glow. Like the embers last night. Like me.”

Thunderstorm bit down on his sobs. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to be a hero if you’re not here with me. There’s no point to completing my dream. Not when I know I could have completed them with you.”

Pike coughed bitterly, felt his fingers slipping away. His hand going transparent through Thunder’s cheek. “Please complete them for both of us, okay?” He used what energy he had left in his hand to press it against his chest. “I want to live here. In your chest. I … I love you.”

“Don’t say that,” Thunderstorm said through pinched lips. “Don’t let me know you loved me too. Not now.”

A stunned Sam crawled over. “My god, this Shifter has the worst case of quintessence poisoning I have ever seen. Stand aside my boy, I might have,” he pulled a cap out of his tooth, something the Galra had not taken from him, and pulled out a miniscule vial. “Yes. Thank god. The antidote. It might still work.”

He lifted up Pike’s face, tilting his chin, and put the vial to his lips. 

“Don’t be stubborn now,” Thunderstorm whispered, “drink. Please.”

With the desire of someone who wanted to live, Pike drank and drank deeply from what little was there in the tiny vial. Thunderstorm could track the golden liquid as it moved through his chest, filling out his throat, lungs, arms. It healed what it could of his stomach, the puncture marks of Sendak’s claws still gouged in, but not fatally. Shape and colour returned to Pike. The man was once again vibrant, and in his arms, where he should have been. 

Pike gasped at the quintessence restoration, touching around his stomach to chest to face with increased awe. “I … I’m alive?”

“Yes,” Thunderstorm gave him a true smile. The one he’d been craving. 

“And,” Pike’s face once again went ashen. “I guess there’s no going back from what I said? Thunder, I’m so sorry, if you felt pressured into saying what you said because it was to a dying man, I totally understa—

Thunderstorm cut off that blabbermouth as he always wanted to. With a kiss.


End file.
